For the Queen is but a Woman
by LavernaG
Summary: Some of Queen Mary's thoughts and feelings during the Downton Abbey movie. Contains spoilers for the movie. One-Shot.


_**I've just seen the Downton Abbey movie, and I find it absolutely marvellous! It took me a whole day to watch it—I just couldn't stop rewinding! Everything and everyone we needed to see was there, and it was wonderful to see that they had stayed true to the TV series' original style—I felt as if I were visiting old friends.**_

_**When I first saw Downton a few years back, from about the second or third season on I started wishing Geraldine James had had a role in the series. It seemed to me she'd have made an elegant middle-class lady or better still a lovely lady's maid. When the cast of the movie was announced and the first pictures from the set started spreading the Internet, I did a little historical research and came to the firm conclusion that she must play Queen Mary—and that was even before the plot was revealed! In any case, I find her to have made an excellent Queen of England, and for that reason I have written this little story about her feelings and thoughts during the movie.**_

_**I hope you enjoy this story of mine, and please leave me a review if you do! :)**_

* * *

Mary was completely happy tonight. It wasn't often that she allowed herself to believe that. There was never a dull moment in the lives of the monarchy, not to mention Her Majesty herself. It had taken some getting used to—in all honesty, 'some' was a vast understatement—but nowadays she was rather accustomed to their way of life. To the extent of her knowledge, they were, in fact, a rather excellent example of a model royal couple.

She had been right to assume their tour of Yorkshire would be enjoyable. She did so love the countryside, and the visits, although most certainly carefully thought-through and ridiculously precisely planned, were a welcome change from her days at the palace. She didn't get out nearly as much as her husband did—and she wished to.

Things had been far from perfect from the start. She hadn't seen her George for nearly two months, for he'd been out of the country and she had missed him when he had returned, only to take the train away from her again a few hours later. And with all the visits and luncheons, parades and teas and balls and dinners it hadn't seemed like he was to have any time for her alone.

Her dear Lady Bagshaw had been properly distressed about their planned stay at Downton Abbey, and in spite of her encouragement the younger woman didn't seem in the least enthusiastic about the prospect of having words with her cousin.

In a way, Mary had dreaded that part of the tour herself, for she had been supposed to see her daughter soon. Her dear, unfortunate daughter who had been determined to bring scandal upon the family by leaving her unloving husband. Mary understood her, of course, and she felt sorry for her little girl, even more so for the fact that she herself had been blessed with a happy marriage; however, she could not let the princess make her desired move.

It had rained the night before—a sign, it had seemed to Mary, that perhaps even God sympathised with poor Lady Bagshaw. Yet the next morning the weather couldn't have been more perfect for the parade. And Mary had enjoyed the ride up to Downton Abbey at her husband's side.

From then on things had seemed only to change for the better. There was something about the Crawley family—and yes, even their servants, as they had all learned that night at dinner—that made everyone around them forget their worries for their time with them. Mary couldn't remember when she had last enjoyed being a house guest as much as she had at Downton.

It couldn't be denied that old Lady Grantham could be a tiresome busybody, yet neither that she was a paragon of well-taught manners, class and undeniable wit. The earl and countess reminded Mary of herself and George at the rare times when they could be by themselves. The kind-hearted American had certainly passed on her welcoming warmth to her daughters, although glimpses of Lord Grantham's poise and—notably in Lady Mary Talbot—Lady Violet's shrewdness could be detected. Even the reformed chauffeur Mr. Branson was a delightful surprise as Mary seldom conversed with people of his rank, let alone found herself indebted to them for her husband's life.

She supposed she'd made a good impression on the family and the staff—especially that poor excitable footman at dinner—since she could, yet again, not remember when she had last been treated in such a trusting, friendly manner in comparison with the uptight smiles and emotionless compliments she was used to receiving. In the morning, right before they had left for Harewood, when Lady Grantham had asked her to speak to the king about Lord Hexham's expected child and his intended tour with the Prince of Wales, Mary had been utterly thrilled about having been consulted, woman to woman, instead of being handled with gloves as everyone insisted on doing.

The only thing that had saddened her really was the fact that—quite probably at the insistence of her staff—the Crawleys had placed herself and the king in separate bedrooms, as they were expected to, she was sure. Yet even that minor setback had sorted itself out at the magical Downton.

* * *

Mary wasn't sure if it irritated, amused or delighted her, but her husband had made a habit of walking in on her when she was least expecting it. She was easily startled and throughout their life together George had never forgotten it. Sometimes it vexed her, others it helped her relax and laugh. The case at hand was neither.

As soon as the door opened, Mary raised her glistening eyes to the tall man in the doorway and her ungloved hands flew up to wipe at her cheeks. Unlike her, the king had already changed for the night, and now stepped into her room clad in a wine red dressing gown that didn't match his elegant black shoes in style nor in comfort.

"What's the matter, my dearest?" he asked in his sweetest of tones, gazing down at her from the distance of the length of the room. "Wasn't the day a success?"

Mary stared up at him in astonishment for a long while, wondering briefly if the man had lost his heart somewhere on his travels. Not once during the day had he touched her, not to mention held her hand or—better still—kissed her. Even Lord Grantham had stolen a kiss from his wife after dinner, and they had most certainly not been apart for as long as she had been from her husband. Mary was by no means overly fond of these things, but she did enjoy her share of tenderness.

Mary sniffled quietly before she straightened her back and took a deep breath. "Of course it was," she replied evenly, tilting her head so that she knew her pointed nose would point upwards in a snooty way. "I enjoyed every minute of it. The Crawleys are such marvellous people, don't you think?"

Finally George moved away from the closed door and took a few steps towards her over the plush white carpet. "I must agree," he said and his voice took on a hesitant, concerned tone when he added, "But I see you've been crying. Why is that, my love?"

Mary never could deny her feelings when he spoke to her like that, and she became acutely aware of her shoulders starting to shake. "It's been two months since we last slept under the same roof," she said softly, waiting for something in her husband's distant expression to change. "Even longer since we spent a night together."

To her utter disappointment she witnessed no change in the king's countenance except for a slight widening of his eyes. Abruptly she stood from the chair at her dressing table and strode over to the large window next to it. One should never turn one's back on one's king, she knew; however, in her bedroom they were not the King and Queen of England but a husband and his wife.

The windowpane was so meticulously clean—there was not a speck of dust she could focus her eyes on, so instead she was forced to look out into the complete and still darkness of the night as she took a shuddering breath. She wrapped her arms around herself, trying to contain her shaking. "I miss you."

Mary's vision blurred and she shut her eyes to restrain new, forceful tears. All she could hear was the sound of her own quivering breathing. Damn that plush carpet! There was no way of knowing if George was still standing where she'd left him.

And suddenly she felt his large hands on her shoulders, his strong chest against her back. Mary's breath caught in her throat and her eyes flew open. George's gentle voice sounded right next to her ear, "I'm sorry, Mary." His hands slowly slid down her arms until they covered hers and Mary was wrapped in his big and warm embrace. "I never realized I had been so neglectful."

Mary closed her eyes again, this time in relieved bliss, and leaned against him. It only now dawned on her that her greatest fear had been that of having lost George to someone he'd met on his constant travels and of that being the reason for his coldness. His eagerness to ease her mind, however, had instantly proved her fears futile. She didn't need to hear his explanations. It was always work and duty that was tearing them apart in some way or another.

Mary nodded her head, silently telling her husband that he was forgiven. With each nod she felt his soft beard caress the side of her face, and she smiled—not that tight-lipped yet genuine smile with which she greeted everyone else, but instead a Cheshire cat grin that few had ever seen her wear.

"I'm not going anywhere tonight." His words were followed by a series of tender kisses on her cheek and down the side of her neck.

* * *

As if all that they'd experienced at Downton hadn't been enough, the Crawleys had simply refused to stop surprising her. At the ball at Harewood another one of Mr. Branson's exploits had left her quite speechless with amazement—she had not foreseen her daughter's change of mind and willingness to work things out with her troublesome husband. When Lady Bagshaw had confided in her that she was once again considered a part of the Crawley family and that the Dowager Countess had temporarily given up on fishing for her inheritance, Mary had, naturally, been thoroughly pleased, but also astounded—to think that even old Lady Grantham could have a change of heart!

Mary loved balls more than she did luncheons and teas and all other gatherings. After the first and formal part was over, the king and queen weren't expected to do anything but dance. And how she loved dancing! Mind you, she wasn't anything special in the field; one might even say she wasn't good. But she had conquered her fear of stepping on her partner's feet and stepping back when she should, in fact, step forward. Mary was, to the best of her ability, very careful when she danced with anyone who wasn't her husband. George knew all her flaws, and after years of silent reassuring smiles he didn't even notice when she stepped on him now.

Dancing was the only time when they could speak privately during the day. They'd had some of their most memorable conversations while Mary was gliding across the finest floors of the finest houses in England in the comfortable arms of her beloved husband.

That night at Harewood they hadn't stopped dancing until very late. They were by no means young any more, but, curiously, neither of them had felt the least bit tired, as George had confirmed by way of making discreet queries about their retiring for the night.

Mary was unaware of the remarks that had passed along from one guest to the other as night fell. "Just look at Their Majesties—I could be their daughter and I can't take another step!" "Isn't it admirable?" "I heard they haven't seen each other in a while—something about the king travelling. Suppose they intend to go on until morning?" "Did you see the way Her Majesty was laughing just now? I do believe she's enjoying herself. Well done, Lord Harewood!" "Shouldn't they have tired by now?"

Perhaps the only pair who'd stayed on their feet for nearly as long as the royal couple had had been Lady and Mr. Talbot who had been bound by the same spell of long separation. They had only stopped when Lady Talbot had noticed her grandmother nodding off in one of the chairs next to the dance floor—a sure sign that it was time for the Crawleys to head home. Mary had insisted she, George and Princess Mary say their fond goodbyes. She had, of course, missed Lady Violet's comment that had followed them returning to the dance floor, "Well, I am exhausted. Let the young have their fun."

The Dowager Countess had said it herself on many an occasion—she was never wrong. Mary was feeling incredibly young, and resting her head against her husband's solid shoulder as they rode back towards London in their motorcar, she thought the tour had proven much more successful than she'd imagined. They would get back to business as usual once they reached their destination and of course they'd be torn apart for long intervals of time yet again, but Mary wouldn't trade her time spent with George for anything in the world.

_The End_


End file.
